Thursday, November 01, 2012

Diary of a Wounded Writer

A short holiday led to an injured hand. And forced rest, off work another week. And because I can't write, I now think up all kinds of things and get frustrated because I can't write. I read, at near marathon speed. I get irritated because my hand movements are terribly restricted.

I watch dozens of birds feed and chirp and make a racket. A squirrel tries to chew its way through my roof. A snake I haven't seen this time.

Cyclone Nilam has sent rains by. It is very cold and rather misty today. My dog Blacky is a lump of black, so black that he doesn't show well in pictures.

I miss writing, more desperately than I could miss anything, anymore. Much as I try to live in denial, I don't feel alive if I'm not writing. That acceptance now brings its own set of issues right now.

Then there are new people and hence new issues in life. The calm lasted three years. Now there is a hurricane in my path.

Well, bring it on.

1 comment:

Captain Nemo said...

'Well, bring it on' is the attitude. Wishing you a speedy recovery.